


Self-flagellation

by dinosaurspice



Category: Naruto
Genre: Gen, I'm Sorry Itachi, Implied OCD, Mild Sexual Content, Self-Harm, Sexual Urges, also mentioned fasting/starvation, anxiety and compulsions, could be interpreted as an eating disorder, nocturnal emissions, some blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-26 16:50:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15667284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinosaurspice/pseuds/dinosaurspice
Summary: Itachi liked to punish himself.





	Self-flagellation

**Author's Note:**

> This idea has been following me for a while. I've been working through some shit, haha

Itachi liked to punish himself. In the beginning, those first weeks after the massacre, despair would swallow him at night until he was sure he would suffocate, and his body would shake, and his head would pound with the urge to cry, but he would not let himself. That was how it started, denying himself one basic need. At some point, he began to fast for hours at a time, or an entire day, sometimes because he genuinely had no appetite but often because he liked the hunger pains. He deserved them. He would push himself to go longer and longer without food until he was shaky and dizzy, but never to the point of passing out; he would not allow himself to become a liability to his mission or to Kisame.

He picked up other habits, little compulsions to exorcise the gnawing guilt even slightly. One of his favorites was digging his fingernails into his scalp, scratching and puncturing himself until he bled. Sometimes a strand or two of hair would come out with a tiny chunk of dead skin. Sometimes he would pull his hair out intentionally, but he was always careful with his placement. He would twist the hair at the undermost layer, where any thinning would be hidden by his ponytail, around his fingers until it weakened and snapped.

When his shoulder wasn’t too inflamed to move, he took to digging his nails into his trapezius, just pressing until the pain was sharp. The soft spot behind his knee was another frequent target. Then, he found great relief in pinching his face. The skin under his jaw and chin was particularly sensitive, as were the areas in front of his ears. Very rarely, because it was a bit of a mess though intensely satisfying, he would hook a finger into his mouth and scrape the inside of his cheek until the squishy-smooth skin broke and blood filled his mouth. Then, he’d secretly enjoy poking the rough scar with his tongue for three for four days before it healed. It hurt, of course; he wasn’t immune to pain. But that was the point.

Mostly, he did this at night, when he wouldn’t be seen and questioned. However, when he took to pressing his thumb nails into his fingertips, the habit became unstoppable—his hands were always there, after all. Uncomfortable, painful memories were pinched and scratched away instantly. Even when Kisame saw him pressing a hand to the bottom of his hairline and asked what he was doing, Itachi couldn’t stop. Even the rush of shame for doing something strange and unnecessary couldn’t stop him.

He knew he couldn’t stop because he’d tried. To prove to himself that he didn’t _need_ to hurt himself, he’d resisted the urge for two days. His fingers had itched, and he’d felt panicky, unsafe. Anxiety had whirled in his gut and left him sleepless and short of breath. Something bad would happen, he’d been sure—the _thoughts_ would catch up to him. So he needed to hurt himself, to starve and to bleed, or else the thoughts would hurt him worse.

Depriving himself food and water was the easiest way to inflict his self-punishment, but denial came in other ways, too. He denied himself sexual relief with a religious fervor. He was never particularly lustful anyway, but on those occasions when his body responded as most bodies do, he wouldn’t entertain so much as a fantasy. During the day, he would walk until the issue settled; at night, arousal was usually more persistent, but he easily distracted himself with pain.

Once when he was bathing, he followed a curious new impulse. Dipping a hand into the water, he reached past his erection and caught the loose skin of his sac between his thumb and forefinger. He pinched, hard, and the sharp jolt of pain sent a shiver down his spine. He tugged it downward, and the added pressure and stretch made his loins ache hotly; it was _delicious_ , but in the wrong way. Once he realized the pain here was blurring into pleasure, Itachi immediately withdrew his hand. He was achingly hard; not touching himself was its own torture. Of course, Itachi relished in that, too. He went to bed that night still hard, his erection tucked up into the waistband of his pants, hoping that Kisame wouldn’t notice. Falling asleep took ages since every movement made him more aware of the tightness in his pants. He had to grip his blanket and curl his toes to prevent his himself from rolling his hips into his own clothes or his bedding. When he woke the next morning, he was more than a little disgusted to find that his body had found its own release.

After waking up humiliatingly sticky, Itachi decided he could afford occasional, laconic masturbatory release. But he continued to withhold that need until he thought he absolutely needed it out of his system. This was nothing, after all. If he couldn't endure this much, he would be a coward. Weak. He would might as well be dead, and he couldn't die yet. Not yet.

**Author's Note:**

> So . . . the ending is abrupt because the rest of this story actually goes into, ahem, pee desperation. Yeah, I make him hold it. But I thought that particular . . . interest . . . would be too alienating for a general audience. So I'm leaving this one as it is and will probably upload the omorashi ending as a separate ficlet.


End file.
